


and when you’re lost you’ll be at home

by agnesgrey



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Royal Dragon, wait until he wants her to try push hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agnesgrey/pseuds/agnesgrey
Summary: Fillfor sholio's prompt of "any character(s), birthday present" at theDefenders Prompt Fest.





	and when you’re lost you’ll be at home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



Jessica is staring blindly at her laptop screen, wondering if she should have _all_ the hairs on the proverbial dog and just pass out before it gets dark, or if that's too far gone even for her, when there's a series of light raps on the doorframe -- usually people just bang on the glass. "Yeah!" she shouts.

Danny Rand opens the door halfway and sticks his head around it, the hallway light behind his bushy blond curls, making him look like the actual cherub he seemingly is. "Heyyy!" he says brightly, like he's actually pleased to find her upright and not glued to her bed (yet). "Happy birthday, Jessica," he says, and comes all the way in, and yes, indeed, in his hands he is holding an actual present. It's fucking wrapped even. Jessica just stares at him. This is so different from all the other conversations she's had today it pretty much stops her clock. She doesn't _do_ birthdays. Oh, Trish called four or five times, of course, but finally gave up and is now probably off figuring how to spin the next big superhero story with Karen Page, the only person nosier than she is (and isn't _that_ combination terrifying). It's been a couple of months since the whole craziness with the giant dragon skeleton underneath the big building they blew up, and those two are still plotting how to make regular humans put down their pitchforks and torches at the mention of "the enhanced". -- In fact, they should make Danny Rand, the literal golden boy, the center of their campaign, he's got that maddeningly calming air people respond to without even liking it. Instead, here he is, walking right up to her desk and putting a _fucking present_ on it like it's not something she could toss out the window. She stares at it like it's a bomb.

"Go on!" he says, like she's a normal person and not someone who could toss _him_ out the window for daring to give her a fucking _birthday present._ Even Trish doesn't try to give her presents anymore. "Open it." He smiles at her.

Jessica slowly claws off the wrapping to reveal a boxed-up telephoto camera lens, but not any brand she's familiar with -- it looks suspiciously like a version of some models she idly circled in an old A/V equipment catalogue she's had for forever, though. (Trish probably told him. Dammit, Trish is probably how he found out it was her birthday in the first place. He was probably talking to her for some reason, because he _likes talking to everybody,_ and Trish sadly mentioned trying to get in touch with Jessica beause it was her _birth_ day and he said _Oh! It's her birthday? Any idea what kind of present she might like?_ \-- she can see it all unrolling in her head.) She wonders what he wants for it. Information on a business competitor? No, golden retrievers don't go in for blackmail. 

"What the hell am I going to do with _this?"_ she mutters, resisting the urge to pick up her whiskey bottle again.

"Well, there's instructions if you really need them," he says sincerely, with an absolutely straight face. "But I'd be happy to show it off to you." He's nothing but sincere, but she thinks she glimpses a tiny gleam in the back of his eyes, almost like the hint of a carp swimming deep in a calm, clear pool. 

She shrugs and flicks one hand at him. "Oh, go ahead. Whatever."

He helpfully opens the box and pulls out the three or four parts, one at a time, explaining a little but passing them to her and letting her look them over on her own. She has to admit, it's good quality -- no, looking closer, she can see it's _great_ quality, but there's no indication of who made it anywhere on the thing. She balances the barrel in her palm, judging -- it feels a lot lighter than it looks. "This a prototype?" she asks -- his giant company does electronics and VR and even cybernetics, like Knight's arm. 

He grins at her. "Yeah! Yeah, that's right." He goes over every virtual bell and whistle -- "and you tap right _here,_ see, and the photo gets automatically uploaded to a secure cloud storage center" -- reminding her of how Philip would go on and on about some new model of his latest action figure, when he could get her to listen. By the time he's finished, since she hasn't been tossing back shots, her stomach's reminding her she hasn't had anything to eat yet. Creepily reading her mind (or maybe he just super-hears the internal growl), Rand says, "I kinda worked up an appetite too! Want to check out the Royal Dragon with me? -- My treat," he adds.

Yeah, _this_ is what she was waiting for. Jessica holds his gaze, her own cold and unblinking. "We're not _friends,_ Iron Boy," she snaps.

But again, it's like the nastiness meant to shock and repel him just doesn't register. Doesn't matter, more likely, so he doesn't let it distract him, instead of getting mad or hurt.

"Jessica," he says, and his eyes are full of that calm clarity that's always there, deep down, even when he's being annoying as hell. "I know you're....solitary. I get it. But you're not alone." 

He says it with such quiet firmness that she can't even think of a good comeback, so he goes on: "There are other people like you. Like me. Like Luke. People we don't even know about yet. So, if you want to be alone -- I understand. But you don't have to be." He takes a deep breath through his nose. "You're right, we're not friends. But we might be."

Jessica wills herself to say something so sharp and biting he won't even think of saying something that sappy and ridiculous to her ever again, but she just fucking can't. Trying to fend this guy off is like punching water. In a weird way, even when he's pissing you off, there's something about him you can't resist. It's not just that he's cute, or knows how to be charming, but she doesn't think anyone not-psycho ever had this kind of _belief_ in her before. (Trish grew up imprinting on her, so how can she count?) He thinks she's _okay,_ somehow, maybe _good_ even, and actually knowing her hasn't ruined that yet, and she doesn't even want to be an asshole and pre-ruin it for him. It's not something she'd do for anyone else -- God knows she thinks just coddling peoples' illusions means they get let down harder in the long run. But it's like this guy doesn't know how anything's supposed to be. How she's supposed to be. She guesses that's what happens when you grow up in a mystical monastery beating up dragons in some kind of eternal Shangri-La: you can see what matters. Or what doesn't matter. Or something. He's quiet, not pushing, not begging. Just waiting. Like whatever she wants, it's all right.

To satisfy her own curiosity, and maybe distract him, she says, "How the hell did you know it was my goddamn birthday anyway?"

Innocent as a baby, he comes right back with, "Oh, Trish called me because she's trying to line up me appearing on her show, and she didn't want to talk too long because she was still hoping to do something later on with you, and I asked if it was a special occasion and she said it was your _birth_ day an -- "

"Yeah, never mind," Jessica sighs. If those two team up she's really in trouble. She rolls the assembled lens back and forth slightly on her palm, testing the feel, thinking of trying it out. And for the first time in a while, she thinks of Matt: lets herself think of him, without immediately trying to drown the feeling, just blot it out. He wanted to be friends, too, she knows. And he somehow had that same quality as Danny -- like he was willing to meet you halfway, or more, even when you were being a dick. And when he'd died, even if he'd been _stupid,_ he'd been with Elektra; he hadn't died alone. For a long while she'd thought that was insanely selfish, but now she realizes: he didn't want Elektra to die alone, too.

"So, you like it?" Rand just has to ask. Jessica glares at him.

"I'll see how it handles," she snaps and yanks open a drawer, just wanting somewhere to stash it. If this is a prototype from his business, she should probably keep it somewhere secure, but she can put it in her safe later. She slams it shut -- dammit, now she _is_ hungry. And she's sick of cheap takeout and fast food. Just to save face, she mutters, "Well, what _ever,_ if you're paying," and he gets a real smile on his face, like a fucking sunrise. Like he's actually looking forward to dinner with her, God knows why. 

Trish and Luke will never believe it. And if they do, she'll never hear the end of it. She just hopes, for his sake, and the restaurant's, he tells the waiters not to fucking sing.

**Author's Note:**

> The people who work with Tao  
> are Tao people,  
> they belong to the Way.  
> People who work with power  
> belong to power.  
> People who work with loss  
> belong to what’s lost.
> 
> Give yourself to the Way  
> and you’ll be at home on the Way.  
> Give yourself to power  
> and you’ll be at home in power.  
> Give yourself to loss  
> and when you’re lost you’ll be at home.
> 
> To give no trust  
> is to get no trust.
> 
> \- from Ursula K. Le Guin's translation of the _Tao Te Ching_


End file.
